Looking Up - June 1 2026

 

Looking Up 

June 1 2026

I look up

as I pass underneath,

sporadically keeping track 

as I putter about the yard.

At the maples

that tower over me,

their bare branches

forking into smaller ones

that angle out and elbow up

until they taper into twigs;

a great canopy

of naked wood

spread against the sky.

Then at the tightly packed buds

they set last fall,

succulent green nubs

bursting with life.

I watch as they open

them steadily unfold;

in no rush 

to expose themselves 

to a temperamental spring.

Then at the leaves,

precise little miniatures

in translucent green.

Sparse, at first,

then growing slowly

over a couple of weeks

in the strengthening sun.

Which is so unlike the weeds

that shoot up overnight

  — opportunists, invading any open space

like battle-hardened soldiers

greedy for the spoils.

Because the trees are here to stay.

They’re like the settled residents

of a quaint vacation town, 

who resent the summer people

and their loud city ways.

Impatiently waiting

until the maples are fully leafed-out.

For the rustling of leaves

that will lull me to sleep,

the welcome shade

that will cool the house

on hot summer days.

While the trees

pay no attention to me,

just another season

of drawing up water,

drinking in the sun,

and fighting infestation

while adding to their girth.

Magnificent trees

I planted as saplings

in some distant past

when I was also impossibly young.

How their stillness

and sturdy presence

have become a constant in my life,

grounding me as well.

How their eye-squinting height

magnifies

my insignificance.

And how their shade comforts me,

lying on the ground

beneath a cool canopy

in the softly filtered light.

Where the sun-starved  grass

is stunted and drab,

with patches of open ground

where even weeds struggle.

Looking up

the shade I’ve been waiting for.

While looking down

the give-and-take of nature;

the slow-moving battles

we fail to see,

the fitful alliances

uneasy peace,

and the temporary balance

we would all wish to achieve

in our own brief lives.

Often, Darwin’s “survival of the fittest” is survival of the best co-operators. It’s not all “red in tooth and claw” (to quote Tennyson); it can be mutuality and symbiosis. 

Weeds, though, are greedy mercenaries: hardy survivors who simply out-compete.

While underground, the trees benefit from cooperation with the fungi that intertwine with their roots.

Both the battle and the alliance go on quietly underground, imperceptible to us. 

And nothing stays the same. Eventually, conditions shift and the balance sorts itself into a new equilibrium.